Free Rude Awakenings of a Jane Austen Addict by Laurie Viera Rigler

don’t know.”
    Anna sighs. “Give her a break. She doesn’t remember.”
    I gasp. “Did I say I loved him? I was not—quite myself yesterday.” Lord knows what I babbled when I took Dr. Menziger’s pill.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” says Paula. “But you watch yourself with him. You may not remember how betrayed you felt, but we do.”
    “I thank you for your kind hints.” I hope that my countenance does not betray my feelings, which are far more disordered by the ladies’ disturbing reports of Wes than by anything they might say about Frank, a gentleman of whom I know nothing.
    I think of Wes and how he looked as he slept on the chair beside my bed. Could a man with such an angelic countenance be capable of betraying a lady? Then again, what do I really know of him after such a short time? Did I not come to know and trust every nuance of Edgeworth’s countenance? I would have given myself to him completely—and ruined myself forever.
    “Finally,” says Paula, as a huge, steaming platter of eggs and potatoes is placed before her. “I’m starved.”
    A platter just as large, and with food enough for three people, is placed before me, and another one before Anna. I am hungry to be sure, but this must be a joke.
    Or perhaps not. For as I look round me at the other diners, I observe that almost everyone is served immense portions. From another table, a waiter removes half-eaten and discarded plates of food, most with enough still on them to make a generous meal. As neither Paula nor Anna betrays any surprise at the wastefulness, I can only conclude that such dining habits are considered unexceptionable.
    “Courtney,” says Anna, placing a hand on my arm, “you’re not going to call Frank, too, are you?”
    “Don’t even think about it,” says Paula, waving her fork for emphasis. “If I hear you went within ten yards of that lying, cheating narcissist, I’ll give you a bigger concussion than you already have.”
    “I promise I shall do no such thing. Truly.” I smile at them, and their countenances relax. “I can assure you that my life is confusing enough.”
    And that is no lie.
    “Nothing confusing about it,” says Paula. “All you have to remember is that this is what men do. They cheat. They lie. They stick together. So don’t forget it the next time you need someone. Men are all the same. It’s women who’ll have your back.”
    Anna raises a hand. “Excuse me, I’m not saying Courtney shouldn’t be on her guard with Wes, but do we really want to make such a sweeping statement about half the human race?”
    “Why do you think my mother divorced my father?”
    “Well, it’s not like you’ve sworn off all contact with the evil gender,” Anna says, giving Paula a meaningful look.
    “Don’t start,” says Paula with a warning edge in her voice. “And whose side are you on anyway?”
    “Hers,” says Anna. “And yours. Which is why I wish you weren’t giving that—Michael person another chance.”
    “I told you not to bring that up.” And then, to me, “Sweetie, I didn’t say anything because you’ve got so much going on right now.”
    “And because she trusts him even less than I do.”
    Paula ignores Anna and addresses me. “He’s completely over his ex, okay?”
    Of course I have no idea of whom they are talking.
    “What do you expect her to do?” says Anna. “Give you her blessing?” And then, to me, “She’s seeing him tonight.”
    “Paula, I wish you a pleasant evening. And I thank you both for your kind hints.”
    Both ladies seem to be rendered speechless, Anna opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it as if thinking better of it.
    “Okay, then,” Paula finally says, and downs the rest of her mimosa.

Nine
    A fter announcing that breakfast is her treat and settling the bill with a shiny golden card which somehow serves as money—though the waiter gives it back to her after she signs the bill—Paula, along with Anna, extends her